My long streak of not stepping in dog shit has finally ended. It was a joyous run. Shit happens all the time. But it’s those rare occasions of when dog shit happens, that reminds us all that karma is utterly and literally a bitch—a female dog who leaves their foul, sour-smelling feces for us sinners to step on.
I was watching an old episode of the Wonder Years and came across this song. It was originally done by Bob Dylan/The Band, later to be covered by the likes of Elvis Presley, The Youngbloods, Nina Simone, Aaron Neville, Jeff Buckley, Jack Johnson, Ok Go, and this version by Joe Cocker.
“Einstein’s space is no closer to reality than Van Gogh’s sky. The glory of science is not in a truth more absolute than the truth of Bach or Tolstoy, but in the act of creation itself. The scientist’s discoveries impose his own order on chaos, as the composer or painter imposes his; an order that always refers to limited aspects of reality, and is based on the observer’s frame of reference, which differs from period to period as a Rembrant nude differs from a nude by Manet.”—Arthur Koestler
What a tale my thoughts could tell. Just like an old time movie, 'Bout a ghost from a wishing well. In a castle dark or a fortress strong, With chains upon my feet. You know that ghost is me. And I will never be set free As long as there’s a ghost that you can’t see.
If I could read your mind, love, What a tale your thoughts would tell. Just like a paperback novel, The kind the drugstores sell. When you reached the part where the heartaches come, The hero would be me. But heroes often fail, And you won’t read that book again Because the ending’s just too hard to take.
I’d walk away like a movie star Who gets burned in a three-way script. Enter number two: A movie queen to play the scene Of bringing all the good things out in me. But for now, love, let’s be real; I never thought I could act this way And I’ve got to say that I just don’t get it. I don’t know where we went wrong, But the feeling’s gone And I just can’t get it back.
If you could read my mind, love, What a tale my thoughts could tell. Just like an old time movie, 'Bout a ghost from a wishing well. In a castle dark or a fortress strong. With chains upon my feet. But stories always end, And if you read between the lines, You’ll know that I’m just tryin’ to understand The feelin’s that you lack. I never thought I could feel this way And I’ve got to say that I just don’t get it. I don’t know where we went wrong, But the feelin’s gone And I just can’t get it back.
“It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and everlasting beauty of monotony.”—Benjamin Britton